To Wish Impossible Things
by Miss Faber
Summary: In which Arthur misses Merlin's ears, Merlin eats jello, and there's a lot of coping. Angst-fest. Read at your own peril.


_A/N: _I know, not yet finished with Coffee & Cigarettes, so what am I doing writing another merthur fic? But this story possessed me, and I _had_ to write it, and I couldn't put off publishing it no matter how hard I tried. Besides, I'm almost done with part 3 of C&C, so I figured I'd reward myself by posting this.

Get ready for a really bad angst-fest. Title stolen shamelessly from The Cure.

* * *

**To Wish Impossible Things**

_Part 1_

_[ Remember how it used to be? ]_

"I had a dream I was feeling better."

Merlin's voice, usually perched in defense and carefully light when delivering such a confession, carries a wave of uncertainty, and it is so uncharacteristically _normal_ that it gives Arthur pause.

"Tell me about it," says Arthur, painfully casual even while he burns with curiosity, knowing what he is allowing.

"We were out." Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur watches Merlin bite his lip. "You and me. We were in that stupid pizzeria you love, and it was crowded and we were waiting to be seated, and I could tell you were annoyed, but it didn't matter because we were _out_."

Deliberately steady hands continue to smooth Merlin's bedsheets. Already, Arthur regrets entertaining this. "Is this a good dream?"

"I felt fantastic," Merlin says, but it is not an answer to Arthur's question. "I felt- I felt so good. So _free_. Like a bird."

Despite himself, Arthur's mouth twitches, and he feels a stab of regret that Merlin can't tell. "A parakeet?"

Unintentionally hollow laughter. "Yeah. A parakeet... I love that you remember. Anyway. I'm happy, but I'm scared- because I know that the feeling, that good feeling, wouldn't last. And you were angry. You wanted a table."

"Stop." The plea is barely audible.

"I decide to surprise you- I figure it'll make you feel better. So I tell you to wait for me and I head out to the supermarket on the corner, with the intention of buying you a whole bag of chocolate mints-"

Arthur's hands are shaking. "_Alright_, Merlin, please. Stop."

"When I come back, I can't find you."

Now Arthur turns, facing Merlin and Merlin's _eyes_, twin glass windows of vulnerability. "You've gone. Left me there."

Arthur forms words around the lump in his throat. "I'd never. I'd _never_."

Merlin's long fingers twist into the hem of his t-shirt, the movement self-destructive, and Arthur leaps over to still them.

"Let's not talk about this, alright?" Merlin's hands are cold between his. "It was just a bad dream."

Merlin twists so that his nose is buried in Arthur's hair, reducing his sentence to a barely audible croak. "I miss pizza."

Arthur moves his lips against the sandpapery skin of Merlin's throat. "You know what I miss the most?"

"What?" A breath.

"Your ears," Arthur confesses, deft fingers pulling off the beanie and kissing each of them in turn.

* * *

Arthur moves away from his laptop when the strain on his eyes gets too heavy, and he finds Merlin in the balcony.

The light breeze ripples through Merlin's oversized _Avengers_ t-shirt. He wears only that and thin flannel pants- and, of course, the beanie.

"Cold?" asks Arthur, wishing he didn't have to- wishing he could wrap Merlin's gangly limbs in a blanket or a hoodie or _himself_, without asking, because Arthur already knows the answer.

"I'm fine." Merlin's gaze is trained on the street, on the sky, on something beyond Arthur. "How's work?"

"Good." The question is a formality, and Arthur hates that he made it so. He remembers when Merlin used to be genuinely interested in his-

("_Tell me what you had for lunch. In detail. And I swear to God, Arthur, if you don't use more than _ten_ colorful adjectives in the next sentence I'm going to sic Gwen on you, have her take pictures of _every_thing you- _what_?" A fist in his mouth to stifle his giggles. "She'd do it. For me. So be _descriptive_."_)

-day, in his life, but they are far removed from that time.

"I saw a parakeet, earlier," Merlin breaks the silence.

Arthur scoffs before he can stop himself. His eyes immediately flit to Merlin's, afraid of what he might find there- but Merlin's eyes look normal, red-rimmed and tired.

"You don't have to stop yourself every time you want to say something." Merlin's tone is a challenge. "It's a bit irritating, actually."

Arthur takes a breath and decides to do just that. "I don't think you saw a parakeet."

"You don't know that." Despite what he just said, Merlin looks hurt. "You weren't here."

"Yeah- yeah, you're right." Arthur forces what he hopes looks like a reassuring smile onto his face. He should have known- Merlin says a lot of things, expresses a lot of hopes and desires, but Merlin is far beyond trying to be careful what he wishes for.

"Are you hungry?"

The question is a mere formality. Sure enough, Merlin shakes his head in reply. "But you should eat something."

Arthur takes a second to remind himself to breathe, because right then it's too easy to pretend that everything is normal; that Arthur doesn't only take care of Merlin, that Merlin can also take care of Arthur, that there's a balance.

But there isn't, and so Arthur smiles wanly. "I'll make some tea. And bring some jello for you."

"Not the green one," Merlin calls out behind Arthur, but he doesn't need to. Arthur doesn't forget, not when it comes to Merlin.

He returns a few minutes later with a tray, which he sets on the small glass table. Merlin reaches for the jello cup and stumbles, and Arthur rights him with a hand. Merlin curls his fingers around Arthur's, his skin suddenly hot beneath Arthur's palm, then lifts his hand to his lips.

Arthur's knees go soft when Merlin kisses his knuckles, his eyes soft and _blue_, focusing on nothing but Arthur.

So sweet and precious, these moments, few and far between.

Arthur savors it. When Merlin releases his hand, Arthur doesn't take it back, but lets it cup Merlin's cheek. "Your lips are dry," he murmurs.

"Fix that, then," Merlin says, voice low and seductive, words cheeky and daring; and it's so reminiscent of the man he used to be that Arthur can't resist, stepping into the space between them and licking into his mouth, drawing Merlin's bottom lip betwen his teeth. Merlin grabs Arthur's elbows and pulls him in, closer. Arthur holds Merlin's head between his hands, limiting his world to Merlin's face.

"You taste sweet," Merlin murmurs, almost drowsily, when he pulls away.

"Mmmm," Arthur says, not capable of much else. His mind is still spinning, trying to catch up with his heartbeat.

"Need a chair?" Merlin's biting his bottom lip, holding back a smirk.

Arthur barks out a laugh. Merlin still knows how he affects him and will use it against him, the bastard.

Still smiling, Merlin settles himself into his chair and gestures towards Arthur's. "Your tea will get cold."

Arthur obeys, passing Merlin's jello to him before doing so.

They're quiet for a few minutes. The only sounds are Arthur's sporadic sips of tea and Merlin's obscene slurping as he tucks into his jello, licking into his spoon; and damn it, Arthur's hard. He watches Merlin's tongue and swallows, then forces his gaze away; he's had such a pleasant morning, goddamnit, and Merlin is in a great mood. _This_ reaction from Arthur would ruin all of that. So he stares at the balcony railing and blinks rapidly, searching his mind for something, _anything_ that would help reduce his... problem.

The image of his father in Speedo's does the trick.

And not a moment too soon; Merlin finishes his jello a moment later, places the empty cup on the floor beside him, and smiles at Arthur. Arthur- perfectly composed and very grateful for that- smiles back and takes a calm sip of tea.

"Tell me about something I don't know."

"Alright." Arthur's familiar with this game. Merlin gets bored- often- so he asks Arthur questions, sometimes hypothetical, or to narrate a story or event. Personally, Arthur prefers the latter to the former. He prefers that the nature of what he's about to say be in _his_ control, rather than Merlin's; Merlin can get pretty dark, and Arthur prefers to avoid that.

He racks his brain for a memory, and finally settles on one.

"Okay- do you remember our first date?"

Merlin rolls his eyes, and of course, the question is ludicrous. "Wait, let me think..."

Arthur holds up his hands, palms forward. "_Alright_, I know you remember. Anyway. I was so nervous beforehand. I had no idea what to wear, so I called Leon- stop snickering, I know that's such a girl thing to do, alright? But you made me nervous."

"_Why?_ It's not like I was such a sharp dresser. I wore my worn brown jacket to that date, I remember."

"And every day since." Arthur rolled his eyes, but fondly. "And I was nervous because you _enchanted_ me, you idiot."

"Oh." Merlin fiddles with his hands and turns his gaze downwards, his small smile both embarrassed and obviously pleased. The sight warms Arthur's heart.

"So he came over, but here's the thing. He brought Gwaine. Apparently the two were having coffee together. You know that Gwaine and I met when I met you, I didn't know him before then. Leon didn't know him either, but apparently they hit it off, and they were getting to know each other or something..."

"I didn't know that." Merlin leans forward in his chair, intruiged.

"That's the _point_, Merlin. Anyway. I kept changing in and out of these shirts- I remember having _all_ my shirts spread out on my bed, every single one, and I kept changing in and out of them, trying to pick one."

"Oh my God."

"I know, I'm pathetic. So we finally pick one, but it clashes with the pants I chose. So I took off the shirt and put it back on the bed- I don't know _why_, it was stupid- you'll see why- and Leon went into the closet with me to pick out new pants."

Merlin is perched on the edge of his chair, eyes wide as saucers.

"We literally left Gwaine alone for a minute- _literally_ a minute. And I come out, and he's spilled his coffee all over my shirts."

Merlin's mouth falls open. Arthur repeats: "_All_ my shirts."

"Oh my God." Merlin's hand covers his mouth, holding back giggles, it seems. "_Gwaine_!"

"At that point, I had to meet you in fifteen minutes and didn't have time to go buy something or wash my shirt, so Leon lent me his."

Merlin laughs outright. "You wore Leon's shirt to our first date?"

Arthur smiles crookedly, drunk on the sight of happy Merlin. "Yeah."

"I still can't believe Gwaine did that."

Arthur waves a hand dismissively. "He had a crush on you."

Merlin grins cheekily. "Yeah, but _everyone_ has a crush on me."

"True," Arthur says easily. He tells himself he's smiling because it's true, but really he's smiling because Merlin is radiant when he grins. "You're irresistable."

"Shut up," Merlin laughs. "And Gwaine didn't really have a crush on me."

"He did! That's why he ruined all my shirts. He'd been into you but didn't get a chance to _do_ anything, I guess, and I just asked you out the night I met you."

Merlin winces. "He doesn't hate you anymore, though, right?"

"Don't _tease_, Merlin."

"You're right," says Merlin thoughtfully. "He's with Percy now."

"That's right."

"They're happy."

"Mmhm."

"And I'm with you."

Merlin's lips curve upwards slowly, as though he just realized it; and it's so adorably idiotic and idiotically adorable and characteristically _Merlin_ that Arthur just wants to jump up and back him into a corner and kiss that smile, kiss him into oblivion.

But that might be pushing it.

"Tell me something else," Merlin says, delighted- and heedless to Arthur's thoughts. "Something... oh! Something from your childhood."

"Okay," Arthur agrees, and this time the memory comes quicker. "I'll tell you the story of Morgana's first toy castle."

Merlin's eyes bulge. "Morgana played with _toys_?"

Arthur laughs. "Just wait. Father bought her this huge fairy-tale castle- it was as big as her bed. It had princesses and balconies and little servants and fucking _bathrooms_ and everything. Anyway, Morgana pretended to be all pleased, and played with it for a day."

"I don't like where this is going," Merlin says. "Did she burn it or something? Mock-execute the servants?"

Arthur's snort of laughter right then is rather elegant. "Oh my God."

"_Did_ she?"

"No," Arthur manages. "What she ended up doing was trading all her princesses for my dinosaur toys. She paraded them all through the castle and wouldn't give them back. I ended up with a bunch of little princesses to play with."

"Oh my God."

"And I actually played with them, let me tell you."

"Oh my _God_."

"I'm pretty sure that's the reason I'm gay," Arthur says brightly, and Merlin finds this so funny that he nearly falls out of his chair. Arthur leans forward, alarmed; but Merlin is fine, just laughing, _stop being so paranoid, Arthur. _

"You're mad," Merlin pants, spent.

"Just telling the truth," says Arthur. "Although back then, I imagined I'd marry one of those princesses one day."

"Is that what you thought? That you'd marry a princess?" Merlin's tone starts out teasing, but quickly becomes subdued. "Oh... didn't get what you wanted, then..."

Merlin's fretful hands are pulling at the hem of his shirt, _again_, and Arthur goes to him as quickly as he can because he can't stand it. He kneels at his feet, presses his hands to Merlin's to still them, then cups his bony knees.

Arthur waits until Merlin looks into his eyes, because he wants him to see the conviction there. "I got _everything_ I wanted."

* * *

For the second time that day, Arthur changes Merlin's bed.

This is a normal occurance. Changing the bed once a day is no longer ideal, and not at all hygenic.

"We should get a maid," Merlin suggests brightly.

"I can handle it." Arthur's voice is sharper than he intends it to be. He throws Merlin a smile over his shoulder to soften it.

He's tired; after coming in from the balcony and coaxing Merlin into his bed for a little rest, he went right back to work. His eyes are tired from staring at a computer screen, his back aches from sitting in the stiff wooden chair and _bending over _so fucking often, and on top of all that he had a conference call that didn't go too smoothly.

But none of that is Merlin's fault, and he struggles to remember that.

"Why can't we get a maid?" Merlin asks.

"I don't want to," says Arthur, hoping it'll stop at that. In truth, he doesn't want a maid intruding on the small room he's allowed with Merlin; the sporadic moments, the stolen kisses. He doesn't want anyone else taking up the time they have together. "I handle it fine on my own."

"But we could-"

"I _don't want _a maid, Merlin."

The words are cutting. Arthur looks over his shoulder, already regretting his tone, and sure enough, Merlin's eyes are wide. His hands tug at his shirt.

"I'm sorry," Merlin says, in the tearful way of an apologetic child. "I just thought it'd make things easier for you-"

"No, no, I'm sorry." A heartbeat later, Merlin's hands are in Arthur's, where they should be. "I shouldn't have lost my temper."

"It's okay, you know. For you to lose your temper." Merlin's smile is shaky. "For you to be human."

"No, it's not," Arthur mutters, exposed.

"It is," Merlin murmurs, soothing. "It _is_, love."

"No." Arthur's protest carries less conviction. "I can't, I- I ought to be strong."

"You _are_- you are, Arthur, you're so strong." Merlin's voice is a soothing balm. "But it's okay to accept help. That doesn't make you weak."

Arthur shakes his head, perhaps a bit too vehemently. "No, you don't understand- about the maid- it's not that, I... I can't share you."

"Oh, _Arthur_. Here, come... let me..." Merlin leans forward, embracing him, and Arthur feels the slight tremble in Merlin's throat against his cheek. "Let me hold you."

Merlin's long fingers run through Arthur's hair, and he almost lets his eyes close, lets himself melt into the feeling- almost. Then it hits him that Merlin is comforting _him_, soothing _him_, and _how_ did he let that happen?

Gently, so as not to upset him, Arthur pries Merlin's fingers from his hair. He rubs them between his hands, to soften the blow. It doesn't work, and Arthur should have known it wouldn't; Merlin isn't stupid. In fact, what Merlin looks like is stunned and incredibly hurt.

"I'm sorry," Arthur says, and leaves the room before he can do any more damage.

* * *

"Tell me about the first time we met."

The game, again. They've just finished dinner, or what passes for dinner in their parody of a household. They each lie in their respective beds, exhausted though it's barely nine o'clock. The small television in their room is turned on, though neither of them is watching.

Arthur is almost surprised at the sound of Merlin's voice. "What?"

Merlin repeats himself, and Arthur frowns.

"You know about that time," he says, his stomach sinking. This is one of those not-so-pleasant requests of Merlin's; he knows it won't end well. "You don't need me to tell you."

"I want to hear it," Merlin says. Then: "Please."

Merlin sounds so wrecked in that final syllable; Arthur can't help but agree. "Alright."

He watches Merlin sit up a little, attentive, and swallows.

"It was at Morgana's Christmas party." His mind floods with images- mistletoe and shot glasses and _lots_ of red and green. The impact of Merlin's ears. Arthur feels his lips tug into a smile and tries to resist. "Gwen brought you. I'd heard of you, but haven't met you."

"Yeah," Merlin says softly, smiling too.

"I remember your ears. They were the first thing I noticed about you- so bloody _big_." Arthur grins, wide. "And I remember the first thing I said to you. I handed you the hat I was wearing, and you looked at me all confused, and I said-"

"'Ears that big can't stay warm on their own.'"

Arthur looks over, and Merlin's smiling so wide his cheeks are threatening to be split in half.

"Yeah, baby," Arthur murmurs, soft. "Yeah. That's what I said."

Merlin's eyes, on Arthur, melt, and that _look_- that look is better than a kiss.

"Tell me more," Merlin urges, when Arthur's been quiet for too long.

"Morgana was horrified- she thought that was incredibly rude and that you'd probably never talk to me again. But you that's not what you did- you laughed and you took the hat, and you wore it right away." Arthur takes a breath, braces himself, and continues. "And I remember regretting giving it to you, because your ears were already growing on me, and I wanted to see them."

"I remember you hinting at me to take it off," Merlin murmurs. "More than once."

"Yeah." Arthur swallows. "I missed your ears."

Self-consciously, Merlin reaches up to touch his hat- and Arthur hates himself right then, a fierce loathing.

"At the same time, though, I loved that you were wearing it. Someone saw you wearing my hat and asked us if we were a couple. Remember?"

"Yeah." Merlin smiles, and his hand moves away from his head and lies still on the bed, and Arthur's shoulders sag slightly with relief.

"I asked you if I could buy you a drink." Arthur knows he should stop- knows he _can_ stop, Merlin can't really do much about it- but he's too far into it now, too deep, and he tells himself he's doing it for Merlin. "I forgot we were at my sister's house. That's how flustered I was."

"I never did understand why," Merlin says, wondering. "You're so confident, and you barely knew me."

Arthur shrugs. "You disarmed me, Merlin. From the first."

Merlin's bottom lip trembles, and for a horrified second Arthur thinks that Merlin is going to cry- but he doesn't, biting his lip and swallowing through it. The relief Arthur feels at that sends another bought of self-loathing to slap him across the face.

"I remember you kept frowning," Merlin says, and Arthur marvels at his strength, because it's amazing that _he_ recovered first. "I thought it was me, but I quickly found out it wasn't- you were like that with everyone, then. Emotionally and verbally stunted, Morgana called you."

"Yeah," Arthur laughs, a little breathlessly. "Yeah, I was pretty fucked."

"But you came out of it," Merlin says. "Out of that shell. With me."

"With you," Arthur echoes, their words following each other with the fluidity that comes with little to no thought. "All that shit my father screwed me up with, you fixed. You fixed _me_."

His eyes burn. Arthur blinks rapidly, trying to dispell the urge; he can't cry, for fuck's sake, and he can't stop. He wants to do this, for once, to finish it. The memory is swelling under his skin and he _needs_ to release it- otherwise, he might explode, and Merlin will almost certainly be in the blast radius.

Merlin laughs a little, and Arthur knows it's for his sake. "I got pretty hammered that night. Remember?"

"I think you finished off all Morgana's limes," Arthur says, commending himself on getting the words out without bursting into tears. "You tasted sour when I kissed you."

"I was sober for that," Merlin says, almost a promise. "I remember every detail."

"Your mouth-" Arthur swallows. "Swollen and red, gorgeous as _fuck_."

"Your hands," Merlin says, hoarse. "Hot, touching me everywhere."

"You were so beautiful," Arthur murmurs. "So fucking beautiful."

_Were_. The word hangs between them, a silent witness.

And then: "You kept touching my hair."

Arthur winces. "Don't- don't do that, Merlin."

"Okay," Merlin says weakly, a surrender. "But I- I think about that. About _you_."

Arthur swallows. He knows what's coming.

Sure enough, Merlin's voice is tentative. "I know... I know I should ask for it..."

He's going to cry.

"I miss you, Arthur." Merlin says it like a confession, wrecked.

He's going to _fucking_ cry.

"I've got to- the loo," is all Arthur can manage before he runs out of the room.

* * *

Arthur doesn't cry in front of Merlin.

He tries to get as far away as possible before doing it- before breaking down. He makes it out of the apartment, down the stairwell, and into the night before his knees buckle beneath him and he has to remember how to breathe.

"God," he pants, the words a scrape against his throat. "_God_."

It's terrible at first- the stinging in his eyes, the burn in his throat, but mostly the pressure against his lungs, as if there's not enough room for what's inside of him and it's trying to find cracks, in Arthur, so that it can escape- and it's not working, he's decaying, rotting from the inside out because it's too much.

It's terrible at first, and Arthur tells himself it'll get better, breathing in and out through his nose, inhaling sharply, viciously. He digs his fingers into his hair and wrings his head, then presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, digging. He tells himself it'll get better, but it doesn't- so he rides it, trying not to think of Merlin up there, the Merlin he abandoned, the Merlin he was trying to protect and preserve but who wanted things Arthur couldn't give him, for _his_ sake- because damn him, Arthur cared more about quantity than quality, and he was going to get Merlin all the time he could.

"He's dying," Arthur cries, hoarse. "I'm _killing _him."

So he curses himself, he tells his chest to stop pretending like there's knives cutting through it- because he's okay, _he's_ okay, and Merlin's the one who's suffering. Merlin's the one who needs, needs him. So he forces himself together, piece by piece, for Merlin's sake.

* * *

That night, Arthur is awakened by a loud whimper.

It happens quickly. He's attuned to Merlin by now, can identify that sound anywhere. _Merlin in pain. _Arthur's up and out of his bed in a flash, by Merlin's side in a heartbeat.

Sure enough, Merlin's fist is in his mouth, stifling his sobs. His eyes are leaking, entreating when they land on Arthur, and Arthur's shaken to the core even though this is nothing new, because nobody could ever- _should_ ever get used to this. Arthur eases Merlin's fist from his mouth, telling him that it's okay to cry, to be as loud as he wants, and one of his hands is stroking Merlin's trembling jaw while the other is steady, reaching for the right pills, and then he finds them and dumps them into his other hand, but Merlin grabs for him like he's dying and begs him not to leave, shuddering, and Arthur swears he isn't, wouldn't and won't, leaning forward and pressing kisses everywhere as he nudges the pills to Merlin's lips, and his finger touches something wet- Merlin's cut his lip- and Arthur swallows bile at that small offense, that little cut, the trickle of blood, but Merlin's taken the pills so Arthur props him up even though Merlin cries out, back stiffening and hands flailing, and Arthur hates himself for doing it but he knows Merlin needs water to swallow the pills, _needs water to swallow the pills_, he says it like a mantra- then Merlin's on the pillow again, but he's shaking and he's sweating, drawing his bloodied lip into his mouth and _damn him _he's still trying not to cry, so Arthur gently nudges his mouth open and feeds him his hand, tells him it's okay and lets him bite, and Arthur doesn't flinch when the flesh is torn- and a minute later there's need for a bucket, so Arthur grabs one from its perch by the bed right when he sees Merlin's face twist in that telling way, and a few minutes later the room is full with the sharp smell of vomit, and Merlin stutters that Arthur should go and get himself cleaned up, open a window, sleep, and Arthur shushes him and pets, hands soothing on his shoulders and his neck, and the sobbing comes back- harsh, ripping through Merlin's thin frame, and Arthur bends over and holds him and kisses his nose and his fingers and his eyelids and his throat, and he shudders and curses and stumbles and sniffles but he does what he's supposed to do, but Merlin's breath is still hitching from the force of his sobs and he _can't_-

* * *

Morning brings relief.

Arthur wakes slowly, stuttering into the conscious world. His first impression is that he's cramped, and the next sluggish minute reveals why; he's sitting in a chair, folded awkwardly in on himself. It's the chair he keeps in the corner of the room to pull up to Merlin's bed on nights like last night, because he can't afford to leave him when Merlin gets that bad but he also can't share his bed- Arthur's too terrified of actually falling asleep and rolling over Merlin, who's no longer strong enough to bear his weight without breaking. Literally.

The thought shakes him, so close to last night- he's too raw to think about anything associating Merlin with pain just yet.

_Merlin_. Arthur's suddenly fully awake and he sits up, wincing at the flare of pain in his knees and his hand but he doesn't think about that. Not yet.

Merlin's head is turned away from him, but a walk to the other side of the bed reveals that he is, indeed, sound asleep. Merlin's slack, expressionless face is a welcome sight after the agony from a few hours prior. With that thought, Arthur rushes out of the room and to the kitchen, knowing he won't be able to leave Merlin when he wakes.

A minute later he's put the kettle on, prepared a tray with two cups and a jello, and he lets himself examine his knees. He scraped them both when he banged them on the concrete. Arthur sighs and heads for the medicine cabinet, rubs some salve over his knees, then rolls down his pajama pants gingerly; both to avoid wiping away the salve, and because of the state of his hand.

The flesh of his knuckles is torn. Arthur examines it with a critical eye; it's painful, but not very deep. Not as deep as it should be. Arthur reaches for the bandages and sighs; Merlin was still trying to hold back.

He hesitates for a second, wondering if bandages was a good idea. Merlin would be upset by the sight of them, but even more upset by the sight of the blood- now that he'd cleaned the wound from the dried blood it was bleeding afresh- and so he chose the lesser of two evils.

Hand bandaged and tea poured, Arthur returns to the bedroom to find Merlin awake, staring blearily at the ceiling.

When he catches sight of Arthur, the corners of his mouth tilt up, and he extends a hand in the air- reaching for him. "Hi," he says, sleepily.

"Hey, baby." Arthur moves towards him, setting the tray on the bedside table and intending to settle into his chair; but Merlin's lips are curved sweetly, though his eyes crinkle at the dregs of the pain, and Arthur can't ignore the sudden intimacy. He leans forward and presses his lips to Merlin's, careful, and for once Merlin doesn't ask for more than he can handle.

"How are you?" Arthur presses his forehead to Merlin's, feels the heat through his skin. "I was worried."

"I know," Merlin whispers. "I'm sorry."

"Please, Merlin," Arthur says, exasperated, and Merlin's eyelids swoop downwards in assent. "How are you feeling? Tell me the truth."

"Still hurts a little," Merlin confesses, then offers a shaky smile as though it'll soften that truth.

"Here." Arthur scoops up the pills and the water, helps Merlin take them. "Okay. Good. Is there anything you need?"

Merlin shakes his head. "Just- just sit by me, for a little?"

Arthur snorts. "You know I'll sit by you all day, Merlin. Gladly."

Merlin's tremulous smile falters. "Sometimes- sometimes I'm not so sure."

Arthur sits in his chair and tries not to be offended. Merlin goes on, quickly, as though sensing it anyway. "I mean- I know you've got to work, and you can't just, you know, leave it to do nothing with me all day."

Arthur frowns. "Is that really why, Merlin?"

His cheekbones turn scarlet, and Arthur reaches out to touch them. "It's okay. You can- you can tell me."

Merlin notices Arthur's hand, then, and his face goes darker. "It's- it's nothing."

"Merlin," Arthur says, exasperated. "You have to let go a bit more- trust me a little. It'll be better for both of us."

Merlin looks at Arthur, doubtful. "Do you really think that?"

He does. "Yes."

"I just... I don't know." Merlin looks away from Arthur, starts to fiddle with his shirt. "I feel like sometimes you get bored of me."

A suspicion knaws at Arthur's head. "Is this because of the dreams?"

"A little," Merlin admits. "Yeah."

Arthur falters for a moment; he isn't sure what to say to that. Sure, he's doing things he never thought he would be doing, his social life is non-existent, he doesn't get to go out anymore- not even for work- and Merlin's certainly changed, but Arthur doesn't _resent_ him for it. He doesn't think he does. And besides- Arthur would rather share a thousand miserable lifetimes with Merlin than one lifetime alone.

"You know I'd rather be with you than do anything else, right?" Arthur sharpens his gaze, zones in on Merlin, makes sure he's listening. "No matter how great, no matter how fun?"

Merlin nods.

"Because I can't be without you," Arthur goes on, because it's true and because Merlin's nod was a tad uncertain. "I literally couldn't. I might explode."

Merlin laughs, a little. "Thank you."

Arthur smiles. "Those dreams are fucking insane, Merlin. You should start to ignore them. Focus more on reality."

Merlin shrugs. "You're right. But..."

He begins to worry his lip, and Arthur sees the ghost of the cut, no longer bleeding but still there. "What?"

"I like them," Merlin says, gaze suddenly hooded as though guily. "I like feeling better, even if it's fake. But you're right, I need to stop having them... because I get scared, every time, because I've heard that when sick people suddenly start feeling better, it means the end is near."

Arthur's throat goes dry. "Don't say that."

Merlin ignores him. "It's like the body makes one last effort before giving up completely."

"Merlin," Arthur stresses, then climbs into bed beside him. The entire process takes about two solid minutes, because Arthur is careful and moves every one of his muscles gingerly when he's that close to Merlin.

"I brought you some jello," Arthur says when he's settled in. He realizes then that his tea's probably gone cold. "Are you feeling up to it?"

"No," Merlin admits, smiling apologetically.

"Okay." Arthur presses a kiss to his forehead. "Tell me if you are. Or if you want anything, alright?"

It turns out Merlin _does_ need something- and Arthur nearly smacks his palm to his forehead for forgetting, because he knows Merlin hates to ask. A few minutes later, after Merlin's relieved himself, they settle back into bed. Merlin claims he feels much better now, and Arthur tries not to feel too guilty for not thinking that Merlin might need to pee.

"Can we play a game?" Merlin asks, hopeful.

"Okay. But nothing too stressful, alright?" He doesn't usually give Merlin conditions, because he likes Merlin to be happy no matter what they're doing, but he feels they're necessary now.

"Okay," Merlin agrees. He lapses into a bought of thought. "I feel like we've done everything. Do you have any ideas?"

"I don't know," Arthur shrugs. "We've gone over the past with a fine comb."

"You're right," Merlin says, thinking again. "Oh! I've got it- let's do the _fu_ture. But hypothetical, so that it's not stressful like you said. Okay?"

Eyes lit up, Merlin looks so proud of himself for coming up with this idea that Arthur doesn't have the heart to deny him. "Okay."

"Alright." Merlin considers his options for a few moments, then says one of the worst things he _ever_ could have said- in Arthur's opinion. "Baby names."

Arthur starts to shake his head and catches himself. "I haven't got any. You say."

"Come on, Arthur," Merlin pleads. "You've got to have some. A little boy."

Arthur shakes his head, smiling weakly.

"A pretty baby girl?" Merlin prompts.

"Eh..."

"_Fine_. If I say mine, you have to promise you'll say yours."

Arthur nods. Anything to get this over with.

"Okay. If we had a little boy, I'd want to name him Aladdin." Merlin's grin is bright and beautiful and cheeky. "Really. So he can be, like, _Aladdin_, and I can be his wizard-genie."

Arthur half-snorts and half-laughs; he can't help it.

"And for a little girl, Madeleine," Merlin says. "Like the cookie."

Something in Arthur's chest clenches. Merlin looks at him expectantly, but Arthur's mouth is suddenly dry, and he tries to find his voice.

"Um... Caleb for a boy," Arthur says in a rush. "And for a girl, Savannah."

"That's beautiful, Arthur." Merlin's lip curve and his eyes soften and Arthur's heart breaks in half. In an effort to console himself, Arthur peels back Merlin's beanie and kisses his bald head.

It doesn't work.

* * *

Arthur tells himself he's taking a shower because he needs to get clean, _not_ because he's hard.

He sat with Merlin for nearly two hours, the television a bleary background as they talked about nothing, and then Arthur rose to make grab a bite because his stomach was making rather interesting noises and Merlin grabbed his hand.

Arthur looked down, finding Merlin staring at him in _that_ way, his fingers circling Arthur's wrist just so. He swallowed, considered ignoring the fact that Merlin's eyes were blown wide with want, considered letting him down easy-

"Stay with me," Merlin whispered, and it was Arthur's undoing.

It was a mistake, and he should have realized it, even if the kiss felt like heaven. He should have realized it when Merlin started to arch a little, thrusting his hips, should have realized it when his hands were tracing patterns under Merlin's shirt and his pants were tented. He should have realized how _unfair_ it was, to bring him to that point, and then leave him.

He looks down. His erection hasn't gone down one bit.

Arthur sighs and grips his cock, surrendering. He gives a few, languid strokes, and his breath hitches in his throat. He's painfully hard- it won't take much to make him come, and Arthur wants to, because he hates that the whole thing happened and wants it in the past. So he begins to picture Merlin as he used to be, Merlin when Arthur was allowed to touch and lick and suckle all he wanted- just to speed things along. For that reason only.

He starts with Merlin's collarbones, sifts through images of him licking at them, lapping at them, remembering the sweet taste of chocolate sauce mingled with Merlin's skin that one time. He imagines he's tweaking Merlin's nipples; pale and pink and pebbled. He pictures Merlin's cock, leaking precome, just as beautiful as the rest of him. He pictures himself guiding Merlin's fingers into his hole, coaxing him, telling him to get himself nice and stretched and ready as he watches- hears Merlin's shamless moans, feels himself swell under his hands. He whispers the filthiest things, urges Merlin on- and then he grips Merlin's wrist, stilling him, telling him to keep his fingers there while he pushed his cock into his mouth. Then that impeccable picture of Merlin, shuddering as he keeps his fingers still inside him while Arthur takes his mouth- Merlin's red lips forming a ring around his cock, cheeks hollowed obscenely as he sucks for all he's worth, and Arthur arches his back and grabs at Merlin's _hair_-

He comes with a gasp, his orgasm ripped from him. He pants as he comes down from it, watches his come swirl down the drain- and suddenly he feels filthy, _filthy, _because he's wronged Merlin, _again_, and he's wronged himself- and he remembers the Merlin he left in the room, bald and thin with white lips but eyes just as blue, and he _doesn't deserve this_. Arthur barely feels himself tremble with the force of his guilt, all he knows is that he's crying again; and he takes a step and collapses against the shower wall, grabbing onto it for balance.

* * *

"I had a dream."

It's night again. Arthur is lying face down on Merlin's bed, shirtless, one arm thrown over Merlin's torso. Well, _technically_ thrown over; his fingers curl over the edge of the mattress, holding his arm up so that a breath seperates it from Merlin's shirt. There, but not touching. The usual.

"What dream?" Arthur murmurs, drowsy. If he was further from the edge of sleep, he would have recognized Merlin's statement for what it is and not asked; but Arthur is only human, and can't stay in control all of the time.

"I had a dream I was feeling better."

Arthur's eyes snap open; he's wide awake now. The fact that this is the second time Arthur's heard this proclamation in the span of two days is almost too much for him. But he grits his teeth and continues to stroke Merlin's hand, and it occurs to him that he doesn't let Merlin see all of him, ever, not anymore, and that's as fucking tragic as anything.

"Again?" is what Arthur says aloud.

"Yeah." There is a smile in Merlin's voice. "It was really good- a really great dream."

Arthur blinks- these dreams of Merlin's are never _good_. They may start out that way, but the tide always turns. He waits a beat, waiting for Merlin to contradict himself; and when he doesn't, he props himself up on one shoulder and presses a kiss to Merlin's cheek.

He feels the salt on his lips, and knows Merlin's crying.

In the dark- Merlin likes the bedroom to be extra dark, or else he can't sleep- Arthur can't see him. But now he hears the small, choked sounds he makes, and he cradles Merlin in his arms; so thin, a bag of bones.

"Shhh." Arthur presses kisses to Merlin's face, his neck, blindly, anywhere. He laps up Merlin's tears and croons. "Don't cry, baby, don't cry- it was a dream, a nightmare- I'm here."

"It wasn't- a nightmare," Merlin manages around his sobs. "It was- it was so nice- so good. We were- having- fun."

"Sweetheart," Arthur murmurs, miserable, helpless. "Shhh. _Shhhh_."

"_I love you_." The declaration sounds like a agonized cry, and Arthur feels Merlin jerk with the force of it; as though it is ripped from his chest. "I _love_ you, and I hate that I'm doing this to you."

"God." The plea is like a curse beneath Arthur's breath. "Shit, Merlin, you... you're not doing _anything_ to me. You're the _vic_tim. And- and don't you know I love you too?"

Merlin begins to sob anew, his hands scrabbling at Arthur's back, as though searching for a lifeline; and Arthur lets him, lets him cry against his chest and scratch at his back, his tears and his nails marking him.

"I love you," Arthur mumbles into his neck, again and again, rocking Merlin, the soft and rhythmic motion clashing with Merlin's wild hands. Merlin's nails are short, but Arthur feels the half-moon cuts on his back. But it doesn't matter- Arthur continues to press reassurances into Merlin's neck, and tries to ignore the sting.

* * *

_A/N: _;_; It pained me to write this, let me tell you. And it still does- because good news, this is going to be (an estimated) three parts!

Please leave me your thoughts in a review, I really want to know what you thought. Thank you, loves!


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